The art of war. An unforeseen factor

"Roger that," the pilot replied obediently over the intercom.

The gunboat banked, and, firing from all barrels, began to descend. A few moments later, we were already jumping out. The clones followed us. The magistrs and masters of the saiga ran off in different directions to take command of the detachments.

How's the command? They simply made a pretentious gesture of "follow me!", waved their swords no less pretentiously and dragged the clones into a frontal attack, while rushing ahead themselves, clearly intending to engage the droids in hand-to-hand combat. Apparently, they did not learn the lesson that the Petranaki arena taught them. Although... magisters can afford it, unlike ordinary members of the Order.

Grunting in frustration, since I didn't feel like rushing anywhere with a hole in my belly, much less head-on at several tens of thousands of continuously firing robots, I nevertheless gritted my teeth and waved my hand in the direction of the droids:

"Come on, let's kick their ass! Go ahead!" it was madness, pure idiocy, and I even understood it, but either the herd feeling of "everything is done and I have to" worked, or the subconscious understanding that it's better not to stand out, or maybe I just temporarily went crazy from everything I've been through and adrenaline hit me in the head. So I ran, hoping desperately that I wouldn't get shot.

I was followed by a squad of clones flying in our gunboat, as well as three more similar squads.

All hell was breaking loose. Around and ahead of us, numerous clone troopers were inexorably attacking separatist ships. MLRS droids fired missiles hysterically in all directions. The droids were also advancing, firing heavily. Huge spider droids, towering a good twenty meters, slowly mowed down the advancing clones with red rays. Clone tanks AT-TE fired from all barrels, especially distinguished by artillery installations of the main caliber. As I found out later, they were quite ordinary kinetic guns with a caliber of about seventy five to eighty millimeters. Laats, which were gunboats and landing craft at the same time, flew at different altitudes at a rapid pace, firing missiles from mass accelerators at droids and Trade Federation starships.

A shadow crossed us, and another AT-TE tank landed in front of us, from which clone infantrymen jumped out through the landing hatches. Together with them, our squad increased to fifty clones, and with the support of a tank, firing, we hurried to meet the counterattacking droids.

Barely deflecting the shots, I ran forward. A little more, and the seps will start to reel in. There, their balloon ships (hefty crap, by the way) began to rise into the air. The blue rays of the SPHA art installations pierced into the nearest ship (they were simply HUGE — forty meters long and a four-story building tall). It hovered for a second, then streams of plasma splashed out from under the hull, and the ship began to collapse. Yes, this is not a pound of raisins!

At that moment, a parting salvo from some kind of droid missile tank covered our squad. Two missiles hit the tank at once, one right in the forehead, the second hit the roof; A couple more exploded in the ranks of the clones. My face was scorched by fire. The blast wave threw us far back. Hitting something, I safely passed out.

I. Part One. Chapter 2.

Much knowledge, many sorrows.

(King Solomon).

* * *

Jedi Order Magister Shaak Ti wandered through the battlefield between the skeletons of war machines, blast craters and droid debris, but her thoughts were far from this landscape right now.

The battle of Geonosis itself took twelve hours, and ended only recently. Now the ships of the fleet have descended to the planet to take on board the troops. Medical frigates landed directly on the battlefield to provide assistance to the wounded as soon as possible. Clones from the evacuation team and medical clones, along with med droids, scurried around the battlefield; they were assisted by free clone troopers.

Despite the fact that the clones acted quickly, skillfully and decisively, losses could not be avoided. Master Yoda risked a lot by bringing untrained troops into battle: theory is theory, but without practice it is not worth much. Although the clones were just "weapons", Shaak Ti felt that they were alive, and there was not one like the other, although they all looked the same.

The battle unfolded almost all over the planet in places where automated droid factories and transport ships of the Trade Federation and the Technosoyuz were located, onto which finished products were loaded. The detachments of the Grand Army of the Republic numbered four corps — at least one hundred and fifty thousand clones, supported by thousands of armored vehicles. The fleet consisted of fifty Approving BDK, thirty-five Consular-type corvettes and twenty-five MedStar-type vessels. The number of fighters exceeded four hundred.

The separatist forces numbered at least a hundred ships in orbit, and three hundred more were on the surface, taking millions and millions of battle droids of various brands into their holds -from the simplest B-1 to the formidable droidekas.

The battle in space was fierce. The Trade Federation's fleet, mainly represented by Baryshnik-type base ships that "distinguished themselves" during the blockade of Naboo, put up strong resistance. Especially those that have been upgraded, increasing their firepower by installing additional turbolasers by installing more powerful reactors. Such vessels were a formidable force. However, the Republic navy, having lost fourteen Approving ships and sixteen frigates, was able to perform a near miracle and destroy eighty-three ships, of which seventy-three belonged to the Trade Federation. The ground forces, having overcome the resistance of hundreds of thousands of battle droids, managed to destroy about a hundred more transport ships. But half of them managed to get away with full holds — the captains dragged on to the last.

Ground troops lost hundreds of armored vehicles. In twelve hours, the GAR forces lost twelve thousand clones killed, and another eight thousand were injured. There were not enough medical ships, and the wounded were loaded onto the Approving ships that landed on the surface of the planet.

Yes. Losses. Sadness settled like a nagging pain in the magister's soul. It's been a long, long time since the Order lost so many Jedi.... The death of each was felt in the Force, and worse, they merged into one continuous series of pain and suffering. Two hundred and twelve Jedi went on a rescue mission: magisters, masters, knights and Padawans. Most of them were killed. A member of the Council — vurk Coleman Trebor, died: trying to attack Count Dooku, he was shot by a mercenary named Jango Fett. Only a few managed to survive — only twenty Jedi left the arena. There were too many battle droids. The Jedi weren't ready for this, not at all.

Count Dooku managed to escape. Obi-Wan Kenobi, along with his Padawan Anakin Skywalker, failed to stop him. They chased him to a secret hangar hidden in the rocks. He was too good at fencing. The young padawan was too reckless. The master's skill could not overcome the power of the former padawan of Grand Master Yoda himself. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Skywalker would have been killed, but the intervention of the sensed Master Yoda saved the lives of these two; both were seriously injured — Skywalker lost an arm, Obi-Wan escaped with wounds on his shoulder and leg.

The Merchant Federation ships managed to escape. Many were battered, but under the cover of numerous Vulture fighter droids, they disappeared into hyperspace. Losses among the Republic's pilots numbered in the dozens. Although the Jedi pilots performed better on their Delta-7 fighters, shooting down one hundred and seventy Vultures out of eight...

* * *

While the woman was in thought, going over the events in her memory, which, apparently, had already irreversibly changed the galaxy, although not many in it understood it yet, the voices of clones could be heard here and there over the battlefield:

"Over here! There's a wounded man here!"

"The evacuation transport is here! There are two people here!"

Togruta was passing near the carcass of a walking tank, which had been mangled by the explosion, when she heard a faint groan. Looking back, she saw a figure in clone armor moving under the rubble. Turning to the nearest medics, Jedika exclaimed:

"Over here!"

A pair of clone orderlies hurried over to her. Deftly peeling back a couple of sheets of armor, they took out a clone, apparently the platoon commander, as indicated by the markings on the armor.

"Brother, are you okay?" One of the paramedics leaned over to him.

"Yes, but my head is buzzing. We were not lightly applied. The walker's ammunition exploded, along with the reactor," The lieutenant sat up with difficulty, leaning on both hands.

Looking around, he said.

"Where's the Jedi?"

"Which one?" The orderly looked around.

"Well, the one that led us into battle. He also had a wound on his chest," the officer explained.

Shaak Ti remembered. The young, smiling Jedi knight who flew with them on the gunboat. Closing her eyes, the magister concentrated, and, reaching out with the Force, she felt a faint pulse of life.

"There, under the rubble," Togruta pointed out.

Summoning a passing squad of infantrymen, the clones joined forces and deftly scattered the rubble. There was another clone underneath, and a man in a Jedi robe. Leaning over the clone, the medic ran a scanner over it and shook his head negatively.

"This one is ready," then he turned to the Jedi's body.

He looked like hell. Covered in dust and soot. There was a wound on his chest, a couple of burns on his arms and legs, his clothes were in complete disrepair, and his hair was burned off. The eyebrows also disappeared. Shaak Ti did not immediately recognize him as her traveling companion.

The scanner beeped happily.

"This one's still alive," the clone said, and shook his head. With such wounds, a man should have died, but the Jedi miraculously remained in this world.

"Get him to the medical frigate immediately!" The magister ordered. For the sake of such a case, it was possible to detach transport, even for one, but the number of victims demanded that day from those who arrived from the Temple would decrease.

"Yes, ma'am," two clones, having loaded the Jedi onto a stretcher, expertly trotted towards the med-transporter, which is a version of the BARK motorcycle speeder without weapons, equipped with two attachment points on the sides of the stretcher, allowing to transport two lying wounded at once at a fairly high speed — up to four hundred kilometers per hour. This allowed the wounded to be transported from the battlefield in record time. Often, every extra minute could cost a life, and the clones did not neglect these minutes. They tried not to abandon their own, the clones have excellent mutual assistance, they pick up all the wounded and, if possible, collect the bodies of the dead to send to Kamino. There were a lot of wounded, so some of them were loaded onto landing ships.

* * *

I woke up at the moment when the medical droid was examining me on the ship. Well, basically, there hasn't been a fight as such for several hours. The Neimoidians and other "aliens" left on their "Profiteers" in an unknown direction, taking a bunch of droids. The Geonosians had retreated into their catacombs, and no one wanted to go there. Clone commandos laid charges to blow up droid factories. A fortified base was being built on the planet — a garrison was to remain in it. The rest were due to leave for Coruscant soon.

All this was told to me by a rather sociable surgical droid, patching my wounds at a rapid pace, pouring bacta over them and applying healing bandages that sealed my entire chest, partially my arms and legs. There was even a bandage on his forehead. It will be scary to approach the mirror, just like a mummy. I didn't feel any pain, just a slight itching and burning sensation. The droid obviously injected me with something.

After work, having happily rung something life-affirming in binary, he ordered two clones to carry me to the ward. Apparently, he still had a lot of work ahead of him.

There were not enough medical vehicles, and I, like many other wounded people, was sent to one of the "Approving" ones. It turned out to be the flagship, and the surviving Jedi, led by Master Yoda, gathered on it. Right now, he and the magisters from the Council were in session discussing some of their business, but to be honest, I wasn't particularly interested in what they were talking about. Senator Amidala was also here. I soon realized what she was doing here. Well, of course.

Very few survived the rescue operation, and of those who survived, those seriously injured enough to be placed in a "hospital" could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Therefore, it was not surprising that I was placed in one of the cabins, hastily converted into a common room, where, drumbeat, Kenobi and Skywalker turned out to be my neighbors. The latter, lying on a cot with a bandaged stump, cursed in twelve languages, including Hutt dialects, Toydari, and even binary. I respect, there's nothing to say. Apparently, the guy was seriously fucked up. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, remained silent. Judging by his face, the Jedi was "tormented by vague doubts." As far as I remember, Dooku puzzled him with information about Darth Sidious and his influence on the Senate. Apparently, Obi-Wan's thoughts were about whether this was true or false. And I had a lot to think about.

* * *

The heat of battle passed, the adrenaline in the blood dissolved, and a quiet panic set in. The age-old questions— "What should I do?", "Who is to blame?" — rose up in front of me in full growth. Right now, realizing the depth of the ass I was in, I was in deep prostration.

I wonder what I did to deserve my "popadanstvo"? Or are the stars just that way? It doesn't matter. As far as I understand, I am clearly not destined to return. We'll have to get out of here somehow.

The Hutt FAFAG with its clone wars, dogmatic Jedi, corrupt senate, Sith combinator and all its charms — lawlessness, drugs and slavery. And in all this shit, it's me, Mikore Vict.

Okay, calm down! You're a Jedi or a wimp! Calmly, inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale.

That's right. I need to calm down and put everything in order. We are thinking how my "earthly" self can help me.

First of all, it turns out that in practical terms, I can't bring anything new — the culture and technology here are orders of magnitude superior to everything that I had in my homeland. The only thing that might be useful is my knowledge of history, because it tends to repeat itself. In general, I specialized more in the Middle East, Central Asia. I still had some basic theoretical principles of warfare in my memory, at least based on the example of ancient battles. Well, I also remember the battle charts in the school history textbook — all those blue and red arrows and squares. Moreover, over time, humanity only changed weapons and tactics, but the strategy was almost unchanged. That's basically my entire body of knowledge.